CHAPTER FOUR:
THE BAKER'S DAUGHTER
I believe this is a good place to stop and take a deeper look into the beginnings of Ladybug's story.
For there was a time, not so very long ago, when the famous outlaw was just an ordinary girl with ordinary dreams. A time when she was not a hero, but a civilian who had everything she ever needed.
Until what she had was taken away from her piece by piece...
The Harvest Festival in Nottingham was Marinette's favourite holiday.
The paper lanterns and banners were strung up along the houses, bringing light and colour to the town even as night fell. The autumn leaves littered the cobblestone streets, and children kicked them up into the air as they walked. The main square was lined with stalls filled with food and games for everyone to enjoy.
And the best part? It was all free!
Being a baker's daughter, the seven-year-old Marinette loved dishing out sweets and goodies just as much as she loved tasting them. Her freckled face would always light up whenever a customer took a bite of her miniature apple pies. She had made them herself (with Papa's help, of course).
Tom the Baker was well-known and well-loved in Nottingham. Everyone came over to eat his food, even Otis the grumpy old blacksmith and his fiery-haired daughter Alya. The two young girls would play together all the time and sneak extra treats from the bakery when Marinette's father wasn't looking.
There was also Friar Fu, the gentle, slightly-bald priest who always made Marinette laugh whenever he came to visit. He brought his special honey cider for the festival, made from the bees of the hive he kept in his own garden by Nottinghill Church. He and Tom were close like brothers, so he became something of an uncle to little Marinette.
Tom loved his daughter with all his heart, and he wanted her to live a happy life. After the sudden passing of his beloved wife a couple years prior, the only thing that brought the old baker joy – aside from baking, of course – was Marinette.
So when she said she wanted to try archery at the festival this year, Tom agreed with a slight twitch of his big brown moustache – a sign Marinette knew that reminded her of the trouble she would be in if she abused her freedom.
The little blunette was practically itching with excitement, standing in line to receive her first bow.
The archery stall was set up near the large oak tree in the courtyard, with four round targets lined up several metres away from the starting line. Each competitor was given five chances to shoot at the targets. If you got three or more out of five, you received your very own bow as a prize.
When it was Marinette's turn, and the instructor handed her an elegant, child-size bow made of swirling wood, the little blunette's heart became all bubbly, like cake mix baking in the oven.
Marinette joined two other kids as the instructor guided them through the basics: the proper stance, the finger placement, the drawing of the bow, the anchoring, the release, and the follow-through. Marinette tried to mimic the archer's movements as she listened, but more often than not, her arrow kept falling off. This was a lot more complicated than she thought.
Finally, it was time for the shots.
Marinette decided to watch the others go first.
The boy beside her – slightly older than her and with tousled, golden hair – drew his arrow back like he had done this in his sleep. When he fired his shot, the arrow hit the third ring in. Many people clapped. Then the boy readied his next arrow, his green eyes gleaming like a cat on the prowl.
When the instructor called on Marinette, she suddenly wanted to curl up into a ball and hide. Lots of eyes were upon her, and her hands were shaking. She couldn't remember the instructions anymore. How was she supposed to lift her bow again?
Marinette pulled back a little too hard on the string, and it was straining her arm something fierce.
Suddenly, the string slipped and snapped with a hard TWANG! Marinette stumbled back with a cry, and her arrow when flying right over the target.
The onlookers snickered from the sidelines, except for Alya.
"Come on, Mari!" the little redhead cheered, her amber eyes urging her friend to keep trying. "Don't listen to them! Try again!"
Marinette's lip quivered, and she felt the tears coming. I can't do this, she thought. What was she thinking, trying her hand at something as hard as archery? All she was doing was making a fool of herself.
At that moment, Marinette felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She looked to her left.
It was the boy with the golden hair. His eyes were a bright shade of green, like the leaves of Sherwood Forest on a warm, summer day. His smile was equally as warm.
"Don't give up," he said with optimism. "Here, I'll help you."
Marinette suddenly forgot all about being sad or embarrassed, and she barely managed to speak, "Oh... O-Okay."
The boy moved closer to stand right behind her. "Don't focus on your arrow so much," he said kindly as Marinette readied her second arrow. "Keep your eyes locked on the target. When you pull back the arrow, do it gently until you feel a slight resistance on the string. That's when you stop and aim."
Marinette followed his directions verbatim. Strangely enough, the boy's presence eased the tension in her stomach. She ignored everyone else around her, focusing only on his voice.
Once she was ready to shoot, the boy nodded and continued, "Close your left eye. Focus with your right."
Marinette did so. Huh... She could actually see the target better.
"Now take a deep breath, and hold it in."
Marinette obeyed.
"Tilt your bow up a bit." The boy gently lifted her arm a smidge. "Think of your shot as an arc – let the arrow fall to your target."
Marinette's open bluebell eye narrowed. An arc... An arc...
The boy let go and stepped back. "Okay. Whenever you're ready."
Marinette fired.
The arrow hit the top of the target in the second ring.
Alya and the crowd cheered.
Marinette's arm sagged against her, and she loosed a breath of delight.
"Yeah! You did it!" the boy cheered, jumping up and down.
Marinette found herself jumping with him. "I wanna do it again!" she squealed.
The boy laughed, but it was a good kind of laugh – a playful challenge. "All right. Let's both take a shot. Together."
Together... Marinette's cheeks turned rosy.
Marinette got the next shot, but missed the other two. Her new partner got four out of five, so he got the prize.
But when they both exited the stall and joined Alya in the open, the boy extended the tiny, black bow to Marinette. "You take it," he insisted. "That way, you can beat me next year."
Marinette stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. "But... you're the winner. It's your bow."
The boy shook his head, his golden hair sweeping over his eyes. "I practice archery everyday. I already have a bow – in fact, I have several. I don't need another one."
Marinette blinked. He has several bows back home? I wonder what his family does for a living. "Then how come you played in the competition?" she asked.
The boy shrugged. "I just wanted to have some fun for a change. And I did. I got to meet you."
Marinette's heart fluttered.
"Aww..." Alya murmured, clutching her hands together.
The boy took Marinette's tiny hand in his, and he placed the bow in her open palm. Then, the boy looked up at her with a confident grin. "Trust me. You'll get better. And when you do, you'll be the greatest archer in all of Nottingham. No, wait... all of England!"
Marinette giggled, her surprise melting into warm happiness. "Thank you... but even I could never be that good."
"You might surprise yourself," the boy said. He held out his hand again. "My name's Adrien. What's yours?"
The baker's daughter gave him a bright smile and shook his hand. "Marinette."
"I'm Alya," the redhead said when it was her turn. "So... Anyone up for a pie?"
And so, Marinette and Alya spent the rest of the evening enjoying the thrills of the festival with their new friend Adrien. They feasted on miniature pies and candied apples, tripped over each other in the sack race, played hide-and-seek in the pumpkin patch, and danced together while the musicians played a lively jig.
Marinette knew most of the children in Nottingham, but she had never met anyone like Adrien before. In fact, she couldn't recall ever seeing him at all before tonight. Was he new here? Was he just visiting? She kept wanting to ask, but she was having too much fun.
So was Adrien. Every time he smiled or laughed, Marinette would get all buttery inside. He was funny, obnoxious, and competitive. But he was also caring, supportive, and thoughtful. Soon, Marinette found herself smiling and laughing with him.
That is... until the sharp, agitated voice of a woman cut through the air a few hours later: "Sir Adrien!"
The boy tensed, and fear creased his brow. "Oh, no..." he moaned.
Marinette and Alya were startled to see a tall, gaunt woman striding over to them.
She wore a fancy red dress with frilly sleeves, and her black hair was done up in a tight bun. She looked like a noblewoman. She certainly carried herself like one. And she... well, she didn't look very happy.
The woman stopped a few feet away and pointed a sharp finger at her feet. "Come here at once, young man," she commanded coldly. "Lord Gabriel will be furious if he learns you snuck out of the castle again."
Marinette's head pin-wheeled. Lord Gabriel? Castle? And that woman had called Adrien "Sir".
The little blunette glanced at her new friend with wide-eyed shock. Alya did the same, her jaw dropping.
Adrien turned to the woman pleadingly. "But Nathalie, it's the Harvest Festival. And we're having so much fun!"
The woman's mouth twisted into a frown that made both children cringe. "Well, I promise you won't be having any "fun" while you're reciting all the conditions and restrictions of proper English etiquette. To the letter." She pointed at her foot again impatiently.
Adrien groaned in defeat, and the look he gave Marinette and Alya was one of pure regret. "I... I'm sorry. I have to go home now."
There was so much Marinette wanted to say to him then: Who is that woman? Who is Lord Gabriel? Why do you have to leave?
Who are you really?
Alas, the sight of seeing a disheartened Adrien walking over to the stern woman and letting her drag him down the street... It made Marinette's heart sink, and her voice lost its strength.
Alya huffed with a frown. "What was that all about?" she grumbled.
Marinette clenched her hand, realizing she still carried the bow Adrien gave her. She took a long look at it before staring back up at her new friend's shrinking form.
Perhaps, it was at that precise moment of helplessness; that moment of seeing a good soul being denied what made him happy, when Ladybug began to appear in that little girl's heart.
Four Nights Later...
Adrien was up late in the castle courtyard, practicing with his wooden staff when he should be getting ready for bed.
It wasn't long before he heard a noise from the nearby thicket of trees: a loud rustling of leaves followed by cracking branches.
Adrien froze before snapping around, staring into the darkness. He often liked to pretend that this forest was Sherwood Forest, and he was the fearless hunter rescuing damsels from bandits or wild beasts.
But this time, the ten-year-old boy felt like a frightened rabbit being stalked by a wolf.
Someone was here, inside the castle walls! But those walls were three stories high! How did the intruder get in here?
Adrien knew he should have yelled for the guards, or ran to get Nathalie or Father.
Instead, he gripped his staff tightly and stepped into the shadowy canopy of trees. "Who... Who's there?" he called, unable to hide the shakiness of his voice.
"Adrien?" came a soft, high-pitched whisper from above. "Is that you?"
The boy reeled with surprise... and looked up.
There she was: a tiny girl in a dirty red cloak, hanging upside down from one of the branches. Her bow was secured in a small quiver on her back, along with three arrows.
The moment the girl saw Adrien's face, she smiled up at him (or rather, down at him) awkwardly. "Little help?" she squeaked.
"Marinette?!" Adrien breathed, his voice hitching.
His first thought was, What is she doing here?!
His second thought was, I thought I'd never see her again.
Adrien glanced quickly over his shoulder before dropping his staff and climbing the tree to help his blue-haired friend down onto the soft grass.
She was definitely filthy, and her hair was wild and all over the place. Bits of leaves and twigs were plastered all over her skin and clothes, and dirt stains peppered her strawberry-red cloak. But she looked utterly pleased with herself.
Adrien, on the other hand, was utterly dumbstruck. "How did you get over the wall?!" he whispered.
"There's ivy all over them," Marinette replied, as though it were obvious. "So I climbed."
Adrien's eyes softened with something like amazement. "And you... You weren't afraid?"
"Well... just a little," Marinette admitted, "but at least I made it!" She brushed herself off, only to stop when she saw the state of her cloak. "Oh, no! It's ruined!" Her bluebell eyes went all sad and glossy in a heartbeat. "My Mama... she made it just for me." She hung her head, and the corners of her lips dipped with reawakened grief.
In that instant, Adrien didn't care that a peasant girl had snuck into home of his father, the cold and stern Lord Gabriel of Agreste.
He didn't care that Marinette wasn't supposed to be here, and that she would be punished severely by the guards if she were to be caught.
All Adrien cared about was that his friend – his first, real friend – was sad, and he wanted her to smile again.
"I don't mind the spots," Adrien said perkily, looking at the cloak up and down. "It reminds me of... a ladybug. I like ladybugs."
Marinette's expression was blank for a brief second when she looked up at him. Then, she gave Adrien the smile he was hoping for.
"You're really sweet, Adrien," she told him.
The boy grinned and rubbed the back of his head. "And you are the bravest girl I've ever met," he said.
Her pale cheeks, even in the moonlight, deepened with a hint of purple. But her eyes still sparkled.
It was then that Adrien decided that Marinette the baker's daughter was also the most beautiful girl he had ever met.
And he loved this girl.
Seven Years Later...
His letter asked her to come with haste to their special place.
Marinette wasted no time. The grey sky had brought a torrential downpour, but the fourteen-year-old baker's daughter didn't care. She slipped on the threadbare brown robe – a monk's robe, courtesy of Friar Fu – and raced to Nottingham Castle.
Since it was daytime, climbing over the wall was out of the question. The gate guards only let in visitors on Lord Gabriel's orders, but monks of the Church were always welcome.
So when Marinette trudged up to the soldiers, requesting shelter from the storm, they let her pass without question. She kept her hood down and her voice low to make the men think she was a boy.
Once she was inside, Marinette slipped unnoticed into the courtyard with the forest.
There he was, pacing in front of their special place: the tree with a heart carved into the bark, carrying initials "A and M" with a pair of crossed arrows underneath. This was the tree Marinette had fallen into on the first night she had snuck over the castle's walls.
The moment he heard her footsteps in the sloshing grass, Adrien turned. He wore a black cloak and hood, which really did nothing to shield him from the rain. His golden hair gleamed wet, and there were droplets on his sharp chin and eyelashes. He held a single, red rose in his hand.
Marinette smiled. Even when soaked and miserable, the seventeen-year-old lordling was still breathtakingly handsome.
Adrien grinned and ran forward, taking her in his arms. "Milady," he breathed, using the moniker he had given her many years ago. "I'm so glad you came."
Marinette shivered in his embrace, but she didn't pull away. She sighed when he breathed hot air against her neck, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.
There were so many moments in the last few years – so many hugs and hand-holdings and small kisses done in secret.Yet none of them could compare to this moment, when Sir Adrien held his beloved like it was the last time.
Marinette had no idea how truthful that was, until Adrien finally looked into her eyes... and told her that he was leaving Nottingham.
She stepped away, unsure she heard him right. "What... What do you mean?" she said shakily, and it wasn't from the chill of the rain. "Adrien, what's going on?"
He ran a hand through his sopping hair with the saddest gaze Marinette had ever seen him give her. "My father is leaving for London tomorrow, to join King Felix's council of nobles," Adrien explained, "and he wants me to go with him. I've tried and tried again to talk my way out of it, but... he says this is an important moment for our family; a chance for us to rise up in the ranks." Adrien shook his head bitterly and looked away, placing his free hand on his hips. "But I know better. He wants to find me a suitable wife among the women of the royal court. Nathalie even hinted at my cousin, Princess Chloe."
Marinette stared at him, listening with a tight numbness in her throat. "How..." She tried again. "How long will you be gone?"
Adrien hung his head down, still not looking at her, as though the truth made him feel wretched and hideous to look at. "I don't know," he replied at last. "Years, I suspect."
Patter-patter-patter... Drip, drop, drip... The storm was all that was heard in the air of melancholic silence.
Marinette didn't so much as breathe. Or move. Or speak.
Years. In London.
London wouldn't be so far away, but... to not have Adrien here for years. To not go sneaking out into Nottingham with him and Alya, disguising Adrien as a peasant. To not hone her archery skills with him in Sherwood Forest until they were both stiff and sore. To not help him donate food and clothing to the poor during those cold winter months. To not spend peaceful summer nights lying with him under the stars, making wishes and seeing which of them could keep it a secret the longest. Adrien had always cheated by tickling Marinette until she begged for mercy.
To not hold him in her arms and kiss him. To not love him.
Marinette gasped for breath, shaking herself out of her stupor. "Years..." she repeated, her tears mixing with the rain.
Suddenly, Adrien was holding her in his arms again. Stronger. Fiercer. When he inched back, he dropped to one knee before Marinette, holding out the glistening rose.
She inhaled deeply at the gesture, a hand on her heart.
"Come with me, Marinette," Adrien said boldly. "Come with me to London. You can go to Felix's court, say that you're a distant cousin or something. People pretend to be nobles anyway – no one will know!"
It was so absurd; so good to be true.
Marinette almost laughed as she pulled away, giving her childhood love a pitiful smile. "Oh, Adrien, I can't," she said. "I can't leave Papa, or Nottingham..."
"Then I'm staying," Adrien asserted, his green eyes darkening with resolve. "I don't care what Father says or does." He got back to his feet and placed a gentle, wet hand on Marinette's wet cheek. "I'm not leaving you, Milady."
For a brief moment, Marinette thought they could do it. They could run away together. They could hide out in Friar Fu's church, or go live in Sherwood Forest. Tom and Alya could come and visit, bringing breads and pastries. Marinette and Adrien would build their own house in the treetops, where they could always be close to the stars.
But the eerie chill in Marinette's bones brought her back to reality. Life was not a fairytale. She was a baker's daughter, and Adrien was a nobleman's son – destined to inherit lands and wealth and servants. Nobles didn't marry peasants.
Marinette's heart threatened to cave, but she willed herself to be strong. For Adrien's sake.
She shook her head again, her eyes firm. "Adrien," she said, "you have a duty to uphold to your people; to your kingdom. You can't throw all that away for me. Especially not for me."
Adrien blinked at her, his face the picture of broken-hearted confusion.
Marinette took his hands in hers. They were astoundingly cold. "You are a good person, and you will be a great lord someday." She swallowed hard and smiled. "Maybe even a king."
"I don't want to be king," Adrien said immediately.
"Then don't. Become someone better; someone the people can look up to with courage and hope in their eyes." Marinette sniffled and wiped her nose. She wouldn't let Adrien see her break down, not when she needed him to be brave. "Bring happiness to others. Marry and have children. End hunger. Lead a revolution. I don't care!" She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Just promise me that no matter what you do, you'll be brilliant at it. Most importantly, you'll never stop being you."
The pain in Adrien's green eyes turned to astonishment. His teeth chattered, but he managed to clamp them down. "Milady, I..." he began.
Marinette put her fingers to his lips, fighting back the burning in her eyes. "Shh..." She wouldn't let him say it, otherwise it would be their undoing.
So she told him this instead: "I am a baker's daughter. I can never have that kind of life. But you can." Marinette moved her hand to rest upon his cheek, and she never once wavered from his gaze. "Don't waste it. Please, Adrien – promise me you'll do this, and I'll never forget you. And maybe someday, if God wills it so, we will see each other again. But until then, we must return to who we are, and who we need to be."
Adrien's hand found hers, and he clasped it with such tenderness that it made Marinette's tears come forth anyway. Adrien smiled sadly and wiped them away, caressing her face. He was so close to her now. Just one step forward, and they would be kissing.
No. Marinette knew she shouldn't do that to him. She wouldn't give him a reason to stay, even if it broke her heart.
Adrien must have read the message in her eyes, because he dipped his head down in a respectable nod. But this time, his smile was genuine and warm.
"I promise, Milady," he said softly. "Your friendship and devotion means everything to me. And I promise you... We will see each other again."
He extended the rose to her again, and this time she took it. The water droplets stood out so brightly against the red petals.
Then, Adrien kissed Marinette softly on the cheek, and she swore there was a scorch mark there now.
"Keep the rose," Adrien said with a sly wink. "Red's always been your colour."
Marinette stood there in the rain, blushing, and watched as her beloved pulled his black hood further down his head and walked away.
She stared after him even when he vanished into the castle. She expected herself to cry; to fall to her knees and weep over letting him walk away so easily. But she didn't.
Instead, his last hopeful words made her grin, and she kissed the rose petals gently. "Silly Kitty," she sighed.
It was probably a fool's hope, but it was better than nothing.
It wasn't long after Sir Adrien left Nottingham when King Felix left England on his holy crusade.
Almost immediately, Princess Chloe spread her ruthless tax collectors across the kingdom.
In the span of only a few months, Nottingham collapsed into fear and despair under the authority of Sheriff Roger, shrivelling like a flower without water. The peasants were forced to work longer and harder, and even then, it was hard to pay off their taxes while still putting bread on the table.
The poor suffered the worst, and little by little, their numbers grew. Not even the humanitarian efforts of Friar Fu could ease the rising tide.
Tom the Baker tried his absolute best to keep up with his quota, but Roger seemed to pick on him the most – bursting into his bakery and taking whatever coin Tom had.
By that point, Marinette would not stand to watch her father be bullied by the greedy Sheriff.
So one night, when the patrols had passed and the town was sleeping like the dead, Marinette performed her first heist.
It was a simple breaking-and-entering: slipping into the Sheriff's house, dressing up as a serving maid, swiping the keys from a guard after "precariously" bumping into him, and unlocking the large chest in Roger's office.
There was so much gold, but Marinette had only brought one small bag. She barely finished sealing the chest when she heard the Sheriff's thumping footsteps outside the door. Marinette leapt back out the window before he saw her, landing safely in a hay wagon.
When she presented her father with the bag of gold coins, Tom was beside himself with shock and worry. "The Sheriff holds all the power now, Marinette!" he stated, his moustache stiffening. "You can't just go into his chest and steal his coin!"
"It's not his coin, Papa – it's ours!" Marinette retorted bravely. "Men like the Sheriff have no place taking from us, and neither does that Princess Chloe!"
Tom placed his broad, dough-kneading hands on his daughter's shoulders. "Maybe they don't," he said more softly, "but they don't care. They hold all the power here, Marinette. They will take what they want, and they will punish anyone who gets in their way." He pulled her into a compressing hug. "And I, for one, don't want to see my only child be executed."
Marinette swallowed at that. She hadn't thought at all about the consequences of her actions; what it would do to her father if she were to be caught.
So she decided to stop stealing. Furthermore, Tom told her to distribute the stolen gold among everyone else in Nottingham. Marinette agreed.
It was worth it. Even if they only got one gold coin, the poor people looked up at Marinette like she was a godsend. "Bless you, child," they would say with tears in their eyes. "You're our hero!"
Even Alya was impressed, if not annoyed that her best friend had pulled off a heist without her. "Maybe next time, bring along someone who knows how a locking mechanism works," Alya said with a wink. "Just saying."
Marinette was never one to fall victim to pride or admiration. But seeing those smiles on the villagers' faces; seeing the spark of hope rekindle in their hearts made Marinette realize that her people's happiness was the richest reward of all.
But then, that next fateful winter, her own happiness shattered.
Tom took to bed with a nasty fever. It started to lessen after a couple days, and the baker looked able enough to get back to work on the third morning. However, he barely took two steps out of bed before he collapsed without warning, shivering violently. Marinette ran out into the street, screaming for help.
Friar Fu came that afternoon, and he diagnosed the problem. He called it the "shivers", a rare winter sickness in which the human body refused to deliver enough heat to the blood.
Both Marinette and the Friar did everything they could for Tom: they fed him hot soup and herbal medicines, and covered him with quilts upon quilts. Alya came over to help manage the bakery and keep Marinette company.
But Tom never stopped shivering, and he kept drifting in and out of consciousness.
Marinette stayed by his bedside the whole time, leaving only to bring Friar Fu fresh snow to melt into water. She refused to sleep, fearing that if she woke up, her father would not.
But Marinette knew the inevitable was coming; she had seen death and disease take many friends, young and old. She just never imagined the same would happen to her father, and all too soon.
On that final night, when the shivers were starting to run its course, Tom was awake enough to ask one final request of his beloved daughter. Surprisingly, he wasn't shivering as much anymore.
"Whatever you decide to do..." Tom croaked as Marinette grasped his hand tight, "don't do it... for yourself. Give to others... Give them happiness... Hush now, my girl... You've wept enough for your old man. Be brave... be strong... and be happy..."
The next morning, Tom the Baker finally drifted into a peaceful sleep.
He was laid to rest in the cemetery by Nottinghill Church, with most of the townsfolk attending.
That same day, Sheriff Roger seized Tom's bakery and all its monetary funds on behalf of Princess Chloe. The rumour was that he tried to seize Marinette too, but she escaped and fled into Sherwood Forest.
A few days later, Alya the blacksmith's daughter vanished into those dark woods as well.
No one saw either of the two girls again for the rest of that cruel winter.
Until one night...
Spring finally came in full-bloom in Nottingham.
Once the roads and streets were clear of snow and slush, Sheriff Roger ordered all of the recently-collected taxes into a wagon to be sent off to Princess Chloe in London.
The convoy was escorted by six guards: two driving the wagon, two marching up front, and two in the back. They led the covered wagon into Sherwood Forest under cover of night.
They were nearly halfway through when they spotted a lone figure standing in the middle of the road ahead of them.
The captain ordered the convoy to stop, and he stepped towards the stranger. "Stand aside, peasant, by order of the princess."
The figure refused to turn around, and his face was concealed by a dark hood. "No one shall pass," he said in a booming voice, "unless they can solve my riddle."
The captain rolled his eyes agitatedly. "Are you deaf?" he snapped. "We are on an urgent business on behalf of Her Royal Highness. Move aside, or I'll have you shot!"
"Here is my riddle," the stranger said, ignoring the captain's words. "What has twelve legs and isn't going anywhere?"
Only then did the hooded figure turn around.
The captain's eyes went hysterical when he saw her face, her bow, and her red cloak with black polka dots. "What is the meaning of this nonsense?" he chortled. "You're just a girl!"
She smirked at him, her blue eyes bright even in the dark. "Wrong answer," she said before giving a shrill whistle.
Something flew out of the treetops and landed in a crouch on top of the wagon, startling the guards up front.
The captain spun around, perplexed to see another hooded lady grinning at him, her eyes burning like gold in the light of a nearby lantern.
"And my name..." the red-hooded girl said, "is Ladybug."
The captain turned, reaching for his sword... but then a blinding pain filled his head, followed by blackness.
When he came to, sunlight streaked through the green canopy.
The captain winced from a welt on his head. He sat up, only to realize that he was lying on the middle of the road with the rest of his companions.
Worse still, the girl – no, Ladybug – and her partner were gone... and so was the wagon!
And so it was that the caring, generous baker's daughter became the fierce, dedicated, red-hooded outlaw.
Over the next four years, the elusive rogue and her foxy friend kept on robbing the rich to feed the poor. Their latest heist, of course, was robbing the royal coach on King's Highway.
Even when the humiliated Princess Chloe offered a huge reward for Ladybug's capture, the poor folks of Nottingham refused to hand her or Rena Rouge to the soldiers. For they still saw Ladybug as Marinette – one of their own. She was the people's hero, fighting to give them back their happiness and freedom.
And like all heroes, Ladybug and Rena Rouge's good deeds would inspire others to become their own kind of hero.
LXP: The scene in the forest was inspired by the robbery from the 2010 live-action film Robin Hood. I borrowed the "shivers" sickness idea from the novel Fire and Blood by George R. R. Martin. I do not own any of the above.
All right, back to the original story!